Harry Potter and the Fire of Eternity
by Omniscientearl
Summary: [Rewrite of: Harry Potter and the Dragon's Breath] Shortly after Harry returned to the Dursleys' house for the summer following his third year, he received a letter from Sirius. He has now been entrusted with three years of the Marauders' hard work.


**Disclaimer:** Characters and locations of the Harry Potter novel series are the sole creation of JK Rowling. This work is produced solely for the amusement of the author and any who read it, and is not intended for monetary gain.

**A/N: **This is a rewrite of Harry Potter and The Dragon's Breath

**A/N2:** Just a bit of editing. If you've read this already, there are no significant changes.

**Harry Potter and the Fire of Eternity**

_Chapter 1: Heart Scale_

* * *

Hermes Spicer moved sedately along the countryside path. He adjusted the shoulders of his dark frock coat and gripped his umbrella as he looked at the gray sky that threatened rain at some point in the near future. He scratched at the black stubble under his square jaw, and wiggled his nose as a few hairs from his mustache tickled him because of the increasing wind. He grinned as his destination came into view.

It was a paleontological dig site, which had become increasingly popular with muggles lately. He knew his family thought him odd, with his fascination of the muggle science, but he couldn't help it. Something drew him away from his family's Diagon Alley apothecary to watch the muggles toil away, unearthing the bones of long dead animals.

As he walked by the tents he nodded jovially to the laborers and shook hands with a few researchers. He had been granted permission to spend the next week aiding the muggle researchers with their efforts, and he was looking forward to the methods that were being developed by muggles to ensure accurate recording of information.

Walking into what would be his tent, he made sure that there was no one around before he pulled a small box from the pocket of his coat. Setting it at the foot of the cot he would be sleeping in, he enlarged the box until it was a rather large chest. He removed his coat and tossed it with his umbrella onto his cot before leaving the tent to be once more under the gray skies of Britain.

Half an hour later found Hermes delicately brushing dirt that was presumably millions of years old away from what at first appeared to be a rock. As he continued to brush the sediment away, Hermes felt a growing sense that, despite the odds, he had found something much bigger than an ordinary bit of rock. He called over several of the scientists to show them what he had found.

In short order the efforts of the entire dig site's crew were focused on the discovery, which was showing itself to be much bigger than anyone had anticipated. Two days later, Hermes' heart sank despite the excitement that buzzed in the air around him. The entire skull had been excavated, and he knew that it was an unfortunate discovery for the muggles slapping each other on the shoulder in good spirits. It was unfortunate in that these good folk would never remember what they had found. For what sat before him, with wind blowing past it for the first time in years unnumbered was the biggest dragon skull he had ever seen.

He smiled sadly, perhaps he would wait until his week with the muggles had ended. Despite the fact that they wouldn't remember this find, he would. And he wanted to remember all of the laborers and scientists he had befriended during his short stay.

* * *

Hermes pocketed his trunk, and shook the hands of the Ministry wizards that had come to obliviate the muggle crew. Exiting the tent, he walked alone out of the dig site, idly fingering the five and a half inch scale in his pocket. The smooth surface of the scale left his fingers tingling, as though he was running them through the finest brush.

It had been an even more unexpected discovery while digging up the dragon's remains. Resting between two ribs, just over where the heart of the beast would have been pushing prodigious amounts of sanguine life fluids. The shape was undoubtedly that of a heart scale.

Even more remarkable was the condition that the scale was in. After he had cleansed it of the dirt that had collected in even the tiniest crevices of the scale it gleamed a brilliant gold, with silvery flecks. He had never seen its equal.

He would take it back with him to his family's apothecary. He had no intentions of ever selling the scale, though. It was a memento of his time spent with the muggles, who had recently been becoming more and more civilized.

* * *

Around one century beyond the events at the dig site, a young man sat at a shabby desk in the smallest bedroom of a house located at number four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. Several books were open before him, and he was scratching away at a piece of parchment using a quill.

The young man looked more like he belonged on the streets than he did in one of the many identical houses in the idyllic sub-urban house. His oversized and overused clothing hid a too thin frame. Adorning his head was a veritable mop of disorderly raven hair, with fringe that barely concealed a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. Decades-old glasses framed brilliant green eyes that struggled to remain open.

Harry Potter, for that was the young man's name, blew out a sigh of tired frustration. He had decided to slowly work on his summer assignments this year, to avoid the time crunch he seemed to encounter the three previous years. Having arrived at his place of Summer confinement only one week prior, he had immediately began on his work. His determination did nothing to change the dry material he was currently attempting to cover.

A tapping at the window over his desk grabbed his attention. His face split in a wide grin as he noticed his dear companion, Hedwig, a great, snowy owl. He opened the window to admit her entrance to the bedroom, and was further surprised to see a second owl, brown in color, follow.

"Who's this, girl?" asked Harry, "a post owl?" Hedwig landed briefly on his shoulder, bumping her head against his in confirmation before leading the brown owl to her perch. The owl extended one of its claws, displaying a small tan letter.

Opening his desk, Harry pulled out two owl treats and offered them to the owls before removing the letter. He peered down at the unassuming envelope, idly noting the sound of the post owl taking flight. Turning the envelope over, he read the words "Prongs Jr."

He smiled as he opened the envelope. There were only two people he knew of that would address a letter to him with reference to his father's school life nickname. He doubted Professor Lupin would address a letter to him in such a manner. That left only Sirius Black, the escaped convict who just so happened to be his godfather. He unfolded the parchment contained within and began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_ I hope your time with Lily's sister isn't too terrible, and that you are, like me, if not in good spirits, at least you are in good health. I've been moving frequently since last we spoke, my secret keeping me one step ahead of the Aurors. My good fortune in having such a well kept secret has set my jester's mind to thinking. And what a dangerous prospect that is, let me assure you!_

_ That being said, it is best if we don't speak much. I wouldn't want to bring undue attention to you. Stay in good health, and stay out of trouble!_

_ -Padfoot_

_ P.S._

_ I would recommend you burn this parchment. However, before you do so, I have one more bit of advice for you: The Marauders share their secrets only with those who know the secret of their map._

Harry furrowed his brow slightly as he read the post script. It seemed obvious what the man had meant: the pass phrase to use the Marauder's Map. However, as he thought about it, the clue made a certain amount of sense, there were, after all, only a handful of people who were familiar with the phrase.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry snatched up his holly wand from where it sat on the desk and pointed it at the center of the parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he intoned, smiling at the words that his father had helped weave together. A soft sound, not unlike paper tearing, caught Harry's attention. Near the bottom of the parchment a small slit appeared to grow. Turning it over, he noticed it only appeared on one side.

Hesitantly, Harry probed the small opening with a finger. He ran his finger across what felt like a folded up piece of parchment. Reaching in, Harry pulled out two more pieces of parchment, one rather small one, and one that was larger than the letter itself. Unfolding them he noted that one of them appeared to be instructions, whereas the other was a second letter, the handwriting matching Sirius' first letter. He eagerly began to read again.

_Good, Harry, I knew you could figure it out. It seems Dumbledore's claims of your keen mind were accurate. I've been on the move, Dumbledore is seeing to it that my trail has gone quite cold. Needless to say, I am actually quite safe. You, however are not. You haven't been since Voldemort set his eyes on your family almost thirteen years ago._

_ Whether he is out there, as Albus believes, or not, he still has many supporters who will undoubtedly try to continue his work. I've been away for a long time, pup, and I've got some making up to do for my absence. _

_ Along with this letter you will find the process that we marauders worked out over the course of three years. The potion is devilishly difficult to brew, but it will enable you to circumvent the normal process of becoming an animagus. Keep it secret from all but those you trust most._

_ Should you desire to write to me in the future, please conceal your true correspondence the same way I have concealed this one. The charm is simple, but potent. A simple expansion charm can create the pocket you need, and can be hidden with a concealment charm. The Marauder's Map's pass phrase will be our means of contact._

_ -Sirius_

Harry smiled as he finished reading the letter, before setting it down and picking up the instruction parchment from before. It must have been the directions he had worked out with his father and Professor Lupin. The smile quickly faded as he read looked the directions over, however.

It was beyond anything he had ever seen, the instructions and ingredients were varied. The total brew time looked like it would take roughly one month, much like the Polyjuice Potion. Unlike the Polyjuice Potion, however, there were very few moments of rest.

Looking over the ingredients he grimaced. He was certain he only had a few of the ingredients stowed away in his potions kit. He certainly didn't own a three inch platinum cauldron. He sighed, it seemed he would have to make a trip out to Diagon Alley. To retrieve money and supplies. That meant he had to sneak away from his horrid family, the Dursleys.

He quickly went out his bedroom door and listened. He could hear his aunt watching her soaps, Uncle Vernon was likely to be either in the garden or in his study, and Dudley was probably out terrorizing other children.

Moving back to his window he stuck his head outside and looked about. He could not see his uncle or his cousin. At least he was lucky enough to have an opportunity to slip away present itself immediately.

After lifting up a loose floorboard in his run down bedroom, he lifted out a small pouch of Wizarding money. He opened the pouch and counted out the few coins he dared to bring back with him. He grunted in satisfaction. It was more than enough to get him to the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps enough for a meal and a return trip.

He would definitely need some more money, though. He opened the trunk he was finally allowed to keep in his room. He pulled out his father's cloak of invisibility and rummaged around until he was able to procure his Gringotts vault key. He strung his pouch over his belt and stuck his wand in his back pocket. He also made sure to grab a second large pouch to stow the cloak in when he was finished with it.

He quickly scribbled a copy of the list of ingredients and equipment he would need and slipped them into his pocket. Double checking that he had everything he would need, he slipped his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, raised the hood over his head and climbed deftly out the window. The Knight Bus would get him to the Leaky Cauldron in no time.

* * *

The brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron twisted, melted and contorted into an archway, allowing Harry entrance to Diagon Alley. He grinned widely at the display, reveling in the memories it stirred up of a half-giant and his introduction to the Wizarding world.

He gazed fondly upon the winding street that led up to the imposing sight of Gringotts. If ever there were a sight that any Muggleborn or muggle raised witch or wizard saw that would impress on them the existence of an entire world of magic hidden just out of sight, it was the huge, crooked building. He at once set off to the towering bank.

After walking through the entrance, Harry let his eyes adjust to the darker interior of the bank, and noticed how few people there were. He walked up to an available desk and waited a moment as the goblin teller was busy scratching away in a large ledger. When the teller made no indication that it was aware of his presence, Harry placed his vault key on the counter.

"Excuse me," Harry said, getting the goblin's attention, "I would like to make a withdrawal." The goblin finally looked up from the ledger, peering at Harry with beady, black eyes. Long, clawed fingers picked up Harry's key and peered at it for a moment and a sharp-toothed grin split the goblin's face.

"Of course," the goblin teller responded, not unlike a snake-oil salesman. "Take Mr. Potter to his vault, he would like to make a withdrawal." The teller did not take his eyes off of Harry as he handed the key off to a second goblin standing behind the counter. Harry heard the shuffling of feet before a small door between teller goblins opened, the goblin who had taken Harry's key waved him through.

Harry followed the goblin as he was quickly led to the cart that would take him through the caves to reach his vault. The goblin hopped into the cart, moving to a small seat at the front. Strapping himself in, he turned to Harry.

"Take your seat please, and keep your arms inside the cart," the diminutive goblin advised, his grin becoming increasingly vicious as his beady eyes shone in the dark, "we wouldn't want to lose anything, now would we?" Despite having heard the threatening advice from the goblins on multiple occasions, Harry couldn't help but nod nervously as he took his seat and tucked his arms tightly to his sides.

Without further preamble the cart took off like a bullet. Twisting and turning, Harry couldn't help but laugh at the speed. He could not be certain, but it felt as though they were even accelerating while the cart was climbing steep inclines. Soon, the cart began to coast, as it banked around a wide, inclined turn. Moving to a secondary rail, the cart came to a stop.

The goblin driver hopped out of the cart and quickly moved to the large door of Harry's vault, the number standing out in large numerals. With a click, the vault was unlocked, and the door swung wide open, permitting Harry access to its contents.

Harry hopped out of the cart and walked into the vault before staring in shock, there were no longer any piles of sickles or knuts, only mountains of galleons filled his vault. He poured the contents of his money pouch into a bin labeled deposits he then made his way to one of the large piles of galleons. He looked around the small room for a moment before he began to scoop handfuls of gold into his pouch.

Once his pouch was filled to bursting, he pulled the drawstring close and tied it off before exiting the vault. He turned to face the driver, confusion on his face.

"Um," Harry stuttered momentarily, still in shock at the state of his vault, "I'm sorry, but has there been a deposit to my vault? It wasn't this full before." The goblin turned his head and peered at the vault for a moment.

"You will have to ask Rustfang when we return," the small creature responded before pushing the great vault door closed and moving back to his place at the head of the cart. Harry followed, and once he was seated, the goblin drove the cart in a small loop before joining the main track and speeding them away back to the entrance of the caves.

Harry was led back to the front of the bank, and, after stepping through the small door between counters, once again faced the goblin he had spoken to earlier. The goblin retrieved Harry's key from the driver before turning once more to the young man.

"Will there be anything else?" The teller asked, oozing false courtesy. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Actually," he began, "I was wondering if there had been a deposit to my vault." The teller, presumably named Rustfang, looked at his key once more before reaching below the counter and pulling a second, even larger ledger before dropping it with a resounding thud between him and the young man.

Opening the sizable book, the goblin turned many pages before running his finger along the notations recorded on a specific page. He read for a moment before speaking.

"The Potter trust," Rustfang began, "received a deposit from the Black family vault exactly three days ago, from one of our branches in Germany by way of owl. Authorized by way of the Black family signet pressed in blood wax." The tiny teller gazed at Harry with his wicked eyes for a short while. "Interesting that the current head of the Black family, a known fugitive from Azkaban, would do such a thing. Remember, young Potter, that the Ministry holds no sway here, and I would be most pleased should you not point any inquiries our way. It is most bothersome to turn away their persistent efforts." Rustfang held out Harry's vault key, which Harry gratefully accepted with a vigorous nod of agreement.

Harry beat a hasty retreat from the vicious and greedy goblins, exiting the bank, back into the glorious sunlight. He blinked his eyes as they adjusted to the bright light afforded by the clear day. He pulled the list he had written from his pocket and looked it over. He would need various ingredients, as well as a few tools he was unsure of.

The Apothecary and Potage's Cauldron Shop were both back by the entrance of Diagon Alley, so Harry walked back up the street, away from Gringotts. He decided to first go to Potage's Cauldron Shop, the cauldron would be small, too small to use as a basket, but he wanted to get what would certainly be the most expensive purchase out of the way.

"Welcome to Potage's, let me know if you need anything," came the voice of a young saleswizard as he greeted Harry from behind a counter inside Potage's Cauldron Shop. Harry smiled and nodded before he began to walk through the controlled chaos of the store.

Cauldrons were stacked, one on top of another, in great towers that tilted and swayed. Harry moved silently through the stacks, searching fruitlessly for a platinum cauldron. He could find plenty of golden cauldrons, self stirring, even, but no platinum. He hoped they sold platinum cauldrons, he didn't know anywhere else he could find one.

"I'm sorry," Harry began, as he made his way to the saleswizard at the counter. "I'm looking for a platinum cauldron," he looked at his list, "three inches, with a sixteenth of an inch thickness." The saleswizard smiled at Harry's query.

"Of course, of course," The wizard said, drawing his wand. "We keep the platinum in secure storage, let's see if there are any that meet your size requirements." With a few flicks of his want, one of the doors behind the counter opened to permit several boxes to float through the air before settling on the counter, the clanking of metal could be heard from inside of them. The boxes were covered in a considerably thick layer of dust, but a flick of the saleswizard's wand blew the dust away, where it vanished into thin air, without even causing so much as a tickle of a nose.

The wizard read through the lists that were written on each of the boxes, before lifting the lid off of one of them. He began to pull out several greyish-white cauldrons that shone brilliantly and set them to the side before he pulled out a small cauldron and placed it before Harry.

"Three inches, sixteenth of an inch thick platinum cauldron," the wizard announced. "Carefully crafted to ensure the maximum efficiency in magical conduction." Harry picked up the cauldron, the small container was about the size of two fists held together. It was surprisingly heavy, despite being hollow. Harry gathered his courage, he knew this wasn't going to be cheap.

"And how much does it cost?" He asked. The saleswizard's responding grimace along with the amount of dust that had been on the boxes was not encouraging.

* * *

Harry hefted his half-full money pouch somewhat sadly before letting it fall again to his side. He looked once more at the gleaming cauldron he held, resolving to get his money's worth out of the deceivingly innocuous object, before tucking it away in his large pouch next to his invisibility cloak. The pouch was getting heavy, and he knew it would grow heavier still.

The saleswizard at Potage's had suggested he next visit Alchemical Apparatuses three stores down for the retort and Hessian crucible. He still was unsure just what they were, only knowing that they were necessary to make the potion.

He found the shop in short order, it was a relatively unassuming building, with a brick exterior and a simple sign that read "Alchemical Apparatuses." With a shrug of his shoulders, Harry entered the shop. Inside was very different from the outside.

The store was well lit, with neatly organized shelves displaying different tools necessary for advanced potions brewing. The aisles were clearly labeled, and Harry found the crucibles aisle very close to the alembics and retorts aisle.

A retort, as it turned out, was a large, globe shaped glass container with a stand to hold it over a fire. At about midway on the globe was an opening with a stopper, where ingredients were inserted. At the top was a long tube that led away from the globe at a downward angle. It was a tool seen in the paintings of most alchemists throughout history, it was quite iconic.

He picked up a box below one of the retorts, marked with the same model number as the one on display. It read, "Dee's Unbreakable Glass Retort! For fumbling first-timers." He figured it was likely his safest bet to get an object made of glass back to Privet Drive on the Knight Bus.

He moved to the crucibles aisle nearby and began searching for a Hessian crucible. He had started at the end where the crucibles were the simplest and cheapest. His heart began to drop as he moved closer and closer to the opposite end of the aisle. His fears were confirmed when he found Hessian crucibles right next to dragon bone crucibles.

He groaned in frustration as he picked up one of the boxes under the display and balanced it atop the retort's box. He suspected he'd be sending Sirius a very long and heart-felt card. Perhaps with some chocolate and flea-dip. He would certainly need it if he was hiding out as a dog.

He picked up two ever burning burners as well as a fireproof table cover and a self stirring crystal stick that came with a small board to write its instructions on. He then walked to the front of the store, where a bored looking witch sat reading a magazine. He placed his intended purchases on the counter where she tallied his total and bagged them. It was interesting to watch, as the witch used a single, small paper bag for all of his purchases.

Without ever looking up from her magazine, she accepted his money and returned his change. Before long, Harry was off again, down the alley towards the Apothecary. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he might have to visit Gringotts once more before he returned to Privet Drive. He'd be sure to write Sirius that card once he was finished brewing the potion.

Once he arrived at the Apothecary, Harry quickly set about finding all of the ingredients he would need. He moved to and fro, a basket cradled in the crook of his elbow, the hand of the same arm carrying the list he had written. Harry soon discovered that certain alchemical ingredients were far more expensive than he had anticipated. Lycanthrope fangs were very expensive, he supposed it had to do with the fact that they would have to have been taken from actual people.

He quickly had his basket nearly overflowing with ingredients, he just needed a dragon scale, at least three inches across, according to the list. He found a large barrel of dragon scales and began to sift through them, using a nearby ruler to aid in his search. Unfortunately, it seemed that the largest scale he could find was only about two and a quarter inches.

He guessed he had been there for a good amount of time, as the clerk had eventually moved up next to him from his place behind the counter. Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration, He couldn't find an appropriately sized scale at all.

"Excuse me," the clerk said to get Harry's attention, "you wouldn't happen to be Harry Potter, would you?" Harry looked up at the man, before letting out a huff.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, brushing his fringe back over his scar, "that would be me." The clerk smiled.

"I thought so," the clerk responded, "I saw the, well that is, I thought I'd ask to be sure." The clerk wrung his hands slightly. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm John Spicer, and I own this quaint little melting pot of alchemical reagents." John extended a hand to Harry, who grasped it firmly and shook. "I noticed you seem to be looking for a dragon scale, is there something wrong with the ones in the barrel?" Harry hesitated for only a moment before nodding his head.

"Yeah," he answered, " I need a scale that's at least 3 inches across, biggest I've found is only two and a half." John nodded in understanding.

"That is a rather large scale you're trying to find," John said, "Perhaps I can help." He pulled out his wand and levitated the barrel to the back of the shop. The barrel rose over a large sorting table in the back before it was turned over in the air, emptying its contents.

"This should make it easier," John explained, pulling out two rulers. The two worked in silence, scales that were too small were tossed back into the barrel. The problem was, when half an hour passed, it turned out that _all_ of the scales were too small. Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Thanks for your help, sir," Harry told John after a moment, "but it looks like I'm out of luck today." John gazed at Harry for a brief time before he spoke.

"I think," he said, breaking the silence, "that I might have what you're looking for." He sent the barrel back to its position among the reagents of the shop ad led Harry behind the counter to a glass case. Inside the glass case was a purple cushion upon which rested what seemed to be a scale shaped piece of gold.

"About a century past," John began, lifting the case, "my Great-great-great Grandfather Hermes found this. He was visiting a muggle dig site, it was a pay-lee-something-or-other site." John's eyes crossed as he tried to sound out the word. He huffed, frustrated at his inability to remember the word. "The muggles were looking for very old bones, of great beasts called Dinosaurs. Interesting creatures, they must have been, like wingless dragons my grandfather would say his grandfather said." He picked up the golden scale from the cushion.

"Unfortunately, the muggles managed to find a _dragon_ skeleton of all things. Needless to say, the muggles had to be obliviated, but Grandfather Hermes found this scale among the remains. This is undoubtedly a scale of some sort," John explained, tracing his finger along the edge, "the shape is consistent with that of a heart scale, as well as the curvature. My father tested a tiny fragment when I was but a boy." He held it up to a ruler that was stored behind the counter, it was five and a half inches.

"He was able to confirm that this is, indeed, a dragon scale. A heart scale, even, one of the smaller scales on a dragon, and it is larger than the larger scales of most modern dragons." He took Harry's hand, and after turning it palm up, he placed the scale there and closed Harry's hand around it. It felt as though tiny currents were running along the scale in Harry's hand, tickling his skin lightly.

"My father refused to deal with known Death Eaters," John continued, "he faced daily threats to his life, as well as that of his family. After You-know-who fell, they found his name on a list of targets. He was meant to be slain as an example to others who refused him." Harry understood what the man was telling him at once. He tried to return the scale, but John would not take it.

"The night you stopped him," John said, "you saved this family. Baby or not, you deserve a reward. Great Grandfather Hermes had emphatically stated that we were not to sell this scale. So whether or not it is with me, it will never profit this humble apothecary." Harry stared at John for a while before he eventually nodded his head reluctantly.

John smiled in return and tallied up the contents of Harry's basket. After paying what he suspected was half the cost of the reagents he had intended to purchase minus the cost of a dragon scale, he was off again, back to Gringotts to refill his nearly empty money bag.

One full money bag and full belly later, Harry made his way to the front of The Leaky Cauldron. Harry raised his wand out in front of him to call for the Knight Bus, ready to be back on his way to the Dursleys'.

* * *

Harry approached the Dursleys' house under cover of his cloak of invisibility. He moved across the grass, avoiding Dudley as the rotund boy burst through the front door in a fit. Slipping in the open door, Harry crept up the stairs silently, before finally reaching his room.

Shrugging out from under his cloak and tossing it back in the trunk, Harry placed his purchases on the lumpy mattress of his worn out bed. He carefully unpacked the his bags and laid out all of the reagents. Unfolding the potion's directions he looked over them once again. Luckily, his father and his friends had thought to draw up diagrams. Likely to help out Peter if they were unavailable.

Harry covered his desk with the fire-proof table cover, then following the instructions, unpacked the retort and set it in its metal stand, over one of the ever burning burners. He placed the platinum cauldron below the retort's spout, over the second ever burning burner.

Once both implements were in place he returned to the instructions. The next step was to prepare the ingredients that could be prepared before beginning the brewing process. Harry pulled out several tools from his potions kit, including a silver knife, mortar and pestle as well as several small dishes in which to place the prepared ingredients separate from one another.

Working methodically through the list, Harry crushed some of the reagents into fine powders, such as the werewolf fang, while various herbs and magical plants were chopped into fine strips. Once he was finished with the preparation, Harry once more read through the instructions. Following carefully, he combined reagents into three separate bowls, which were to be added to the retort at the beginning of the three stages of brewing. None of the prepared reagents were to be added directly to the cauldron.

Harry looked out his window and marveled at the darkness he saw. He had not realized how long he had already been working on the preparation for the potion. Looking over the directions he was satisfied with the preparation.

Giving off a great yawn, Harry carefully covered the ingredients, and determined to begin brewing the potion as soon as he was finished with his morning chores. Luckily, said chores were considerably lighter than they had ever been in Harry's life, on account of the Dursleys' knowledge of just who his godfather was.

* * *

Harry gave a great stretch and leaned back, popping his back to release some of the tension stored there. Dishes were finished and laundry had been started. He pulled open the loose floorboard in his room and retrieved a few treats, as Dudley had been placed on a diet, which the whole family had to obey in _fairness_ of all things.

Idly taking a few bites of a cauldron cake, Harry began to read over the instructions for the actual brewing process. It didn't seem too difficult, three brewing steps that consisted of placing the mixed ingredients into the retort for essence extraction. He glanced further down at the stirring instructions and took in a sharp breath.

Rather, he tried to take in a sharp breath. The cauldron cake in his mouth made sure it was an impossible task as he found himself suddenly choking on the confection. Fighting for air, Harry grabbed the floorboard and swung it around to his back as hard as he could, at the same time trying to force what little air he had in his lungs out.

With a great cough, the offending food shot from his mouth and hit the wall with a wet splat. Harry fell over, out of his chair in relief.

"Quiet up there, boy!" came Uncle Vernon's voice in a great shout. Harry took great gulps of air, unable to respond immediately.

"Sorry Uncle Vernon," Harry called back, finally gathering enough of his wits. He quickly cleaned up the mess he had made and sat back down in his seat. He placed the remaining cauldron cake far away from him for the moment.

He began to read over the stirring instructions. It seemed completely random, with a single stir clockwise followed by four counter, six clockwise with a counter stir following. There was no discernible pattern as far as he could tell.

He pulled out his self stirring crystal stick and read its manual, thankfully it seemed to be made for potions where the stirring was more involved than the ingredient order. He began to quickly copy the stirring instructions from the recipe parchment to the stirring stick's instruction board. He wrote in the appropriate phrase according to the manual that would allow him to set it all up in three different sets. A tap from his wand would move it from one instruction set to the next.

After checking and re-checking the stirring instructions several times, as well as making some minor corrections, Harry was satisfied that it matched the directions on the Marauders' recipe. He was lucky that he was able to pick up a self stirring stick, otherwise he would have been stuck in this chair brewing the potion for almost four weeks straight. He imagined his buttocks might fuse with the rickety chair upon which he sat if that were the case.

First, he had to prime the potion's base. He retrieved the bag from his shopping trip the prior day and pulled out a vial of dragon blood. It looked to be about the same amount one would find in a soda can. He held it over the platinum cauldron and upended the vial, pouring the scarlet liquid into the vessel. He prodded the burner beneath the cauldron with his wand and with a twist a red fire sprang up. He then ran the tip of his wand to the right across the burner's base, and watched as the color of the fire shifted from an orange red to a soft blue. Once he had the color he desired he twisted his wand once more until the blue fire was spread evenly across the bottom of the cauldron.

He kept an eye on his beat up old watch, and after ten minutes he picked up the first bowl of mixed ingredients. This mix featured the powdered lycanthrope fangs with an abundance of wolfsbane, specifically for the transformational qualities. Uncorking the retort, Harry carefully tipped the bowl, ensuring all of the mix made its way into the glass container. He retrieved a second vial from his Diagon Alley shopping bag, labeled aqua vitae, and poured it into the retort as well. Satisfied that the last drops fell into the retort he corked the alchemical apparatus.

Harry then used his wand to activate the second burner, the one beneath the retort. Leaving the fire a soft orange, he brought the flame up to cover about a three inch circle at the base of the retort. Satisfied, Harry retrieved a small silver pin and waited. He wasn't looking forward to the next step.

He watched as the ingredients colored the aqua vitae, which began to bubble. Slowly a fog began to appear at the top of the retort and ever so timidly, a few droplets began to trace paths down the glass tube toward the cauldron. He pricked his finger on the silver pin and held the digit over the oddly cool cauldron.

Then, as he watched the first drop of essence fall from the retort Harry pressed his thumb to his injured index finger. A droplet of blood fell and he squeezed once more, adding a second and more. Once the seventh drop fell, he placed the crystal stirring stick into the dragon blood and tapped his wand on the stick's instruction board, setting the iridescent rod in motion.

Sucking on his finger, Harry watched as the first step was completed for him. If everything continued properly, he would have three weeks before his next step would start. Once his finger had stopped bleeding, he pulled out his summer work once more.

First on his list of assignments was an essay for Professor McGonagall on practical applications of transfiguration in everyday life. He sighed, this was going to be a delicate essay, especially considering McGonagall's views on appropriate and inappropriate uses of transfiguration.

He settled down and let the soft singing of the crystal rod as it ran along the lip of the cauldron soothe him as he began the long and undoubtedly boring summer work. Several times he found himself taking a break from his work just to watch as the crystal stirring stick moved slowly through its instructions, softly clinking and humming as it moved.

* * *

Harry rolled up his last bit of summer work, a bit of research for Professor Flitwick where he had to find the incantation that would cause a described effect. Stuffing the rolled up parchment into his book bag, Harry checked his watch. It was nearly noon, which meant that he would soon need to be ready to kick off the second step.

It had already been three weeks since he started to brew the potion. It was now mid-July. He watched the crystal stirring stick as it moved under its own power, now drawing geometric patterns in the potion, leaving faint trails of glowing liquid.

The dragon blood never reached a boil, despite the high temperature of the flame over which it stood. In fact, it was as though the solution was simply absorbing any heat from the fire, as Harry could feel almost no heat unless he placed his hand beneath the cauldron, near the fire itself.

He turned his attention to the retort, where the materials inside had almost entirely vanished aside from a small pile of ash. Soon enough, the ash pile pulsed with a flash of multicolored light. Harry picked up a second vial of aqua vitae and, after he uncorked the retort, poured it in. He ran his wand along the metal ring of the retort's stand, which caused the material inside to swirl and mix.

Once he was finished mixing the ash into the spirit, he uncovered and picked up the second mixture of reagents. The prime ingredients this time, according to the recipe, were the crushed bezoar and powdered alicorn, or unicorn's horn, to counteract the poison of the wolfsbane.

Harry waited once more as the top of the retort began to mist, and the extracted essences began to flow down the tube. Pricking his finger once more, he squeezed out seven drops of his own blood and tapped his wand on the crystal stirring stick's instruction board. The geometric patterns came to a halt and the stick began slow, methodical circuits once more, singing as it ran along the lip of the cauldron.

Harry huffed slightly. Now he just had to find a way to fill three days and three nights of time. He idly wondered why his father had not written seventy-two hours, but then shrugged. It probably has to do with intent, which his professors constantly reminded him was one of the most important factors of magic.

He stood and paced a bit, trying to think of a way to fill his time. He looked at the trunk at the foot of his bed. Warring with himself for what seemed an age, he finally grunted, before opening the trunk and pulling out his S_tandard Book of Spells, Grade 3_. He really didn't like summer.

* * *

Harry kept glancing at his watch. He never considered just how irritating it was going to be to wait for this potion to be done. It was worse than waiting to return to Hogwarts. He read and reread the same paragraph in his book. Perhaps read was too strong a word, as his eye moved uncomprehendingly across the words.

One final glance and his watch struck noon. He tossed the book down and snatched up his final vial of aqua vitae. He quickly uncorked the retort and poured it in, adding it to the ash that remained, and mixed it together by once again running his wand along the metal ring of the stand.

He uncovered and picked up the final mix of reagents, this time featuring a pinch of down from a freshly burned phoenix and various invigorating herbs. He added it to the mixture of the retort and picked up a vial of salamander blood and a very tiny vial of phoenix tears. He poured them in and once more mixed the contents of the retort.

The mixture began to glow, consuming itself magically. One final time, Harry added seven drops of his own blood to the mixture in the cauldron, and tapped the crystal stirring stick's instruction board. Rather than stir, however, the stick began to trace glowing lines across the surface of the potion.

Complex symbols were slowly beginning to appear, and Harry could not look away at the sheer majesty of the magic appearing before him. Luckily, according to what he recognized as Professor Lupin's handwriting, the potion was greedily absorbing all magic that was being added, and should not alert the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Seeing as he had yet to receive an owl from said office, he was inclined to believe the aging marauder. Time began to flow quickly for Harry as he watched the imagery appear and fade over and over again on the surface of the potion. Before he knew it, three hours had passed, and the last of the magically active ingredients in the retort had consumed themselves.

Harry turned off the ever burning burners beneath the two vessels and began the task of setting up the Hessian crucible. It came with its own stand with an integrated burner and dark smoked glass hood. He placed the stand on the fireproof table cover and placed the crucible in the triangular holding ring.

He gingerly placed a hand on the platinum cauldron, and found it mildly warm to the touch, and rapidly cooling as the dragon blood greedily absorbed the added heat. He carefully poured the potion into the Hessian crucible, filling it about two-thirds full with the curious concoction before the last few drops fell. He set the cauldron off to the side, slightly startled at just how clean the vessel was, not a single drop of the potion remained.

Harry reached into the Diagon Alley shopping bag and withdrew one final item, the dragon scale. It shone in the noon-day light, the silver flecks in the scale were sparkling madly. He could feel that strange tingling again, it seemed even more energetic than before, even. It was likely just his imagination, but Harry almost felt as though the scale understood that it was about to be used, its magics finally released. He smiled to himself lopsidedly, banishing the silly thoughts.

He slowly lowered the scale into the crucible until it nearly vanished into the mixture, just a small fragment remained sticking out. He covered the crucible with its lid and lowered the smoked glass hood down until it rested on the fireproof table cover. The glass was so dark that he could not even see inside.

Harry then, after reading the crucible's instructions, tapped his wand on the top of the glass hood. Suddenly a faint, blue light could be seen from inside the dark glass, from where Harry assumed the crucible stand's burner was. He twisted his wand, and as he did so, the light grew brighter and brighter. Soon, it was as bright as a tungsten light bulb, and Harry could see the crucible and the stand clearly, despite the dark and cloudy glass.

Now that the fire was, as the instructions said, as hot as it could possibly be, Harry began to draw his wand across the top of the hood in a clockwise, circular motion. The flame rose and rose as Harry continued his wand movements, and the crucible was eventually fully consumed in the fire. Satisfied, Harry put his wand down and sat back, admiring his handiwork so far. Now he just had to find the patience to wait seven days.

* * *

Harry tiredly rubbed his eyes as he finished reading _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_. He shut it with a loud clap before he tossed it into his open trunk. It never hurt to brush up on spells he had already learned, but that didn't make it any more enjoyable to read a text book.

He huffed as he stared at the ceiling of his room, before lazily turning on his side. He looked at the bright light emanating from the crucible's glass hood. He was glad this was the final day, that light had made it terribly difficult to sleep at night. Luckily his window was on a different face of the house than his Uncle's, so all it took was a towel rolled up at the base of his door to block out the excess light, and keep his activities secret from his family.

He looked at his watch. It was almost time. He drew himself up from the bed, and swung his legs over the side. He blinked the sleep away from his eyes, and gave a great yawn and stretch. He let the his lightheaded feeling pass and stood up. Slowly, his adrenaline began to kick in and excitement began to flood his body.

The final minute finally passed and Harry gave a sharp rap atop the glass hood with his wand. The light died out instantly, leaving only an afterimage in his vision. He waited a few moments, hopping back and forth excitedly on the balls of his feet. His heart was pounding wildly. Gingerly he reached out and tested the temperature of the glass hood; it was nice and cool.

He quickly raised the hood, and noticed that the air beneath was also oddly cool. His brow furrowed as he touched the crucible. It, too was cool to the touch. He dealt with the impossible on a daily basis at school, but this was beyond odd. He lifted the lid, and what he saw took his breath away.

Contrary to the expected multicolored marble he found what appeared to be a ball of pure, multicolored, swirling light. It was perfectly spherical, shining in the darkness of the interior of the crucible. There was no more potion or scale remaining, only the rapidly pulsing sphere of energy.

He picked up the crucible and slowly tipped it over, allowing the ball to roll out of the container and a few inches across the table surface. It made no noise, but otherwise appeared to behave as a solid ball. He reached out hesitantly and touched the ball. It was warm, and he could feel a strong tickling sensation as small sparks of static jumped from the mass to his outreached finger.

He gave it a light push, and the small marble rolled. Harry couldn't help but chuckle. It might be a little off, either almost complete or completed beyond the recipe's prescribed expectations, but he seemed to have succeeded. His chuckles soon gave way to excited laughter.

He just had to swallow this marble, no bigger than a vitamin, really, and he would have followed even further in his father's footsteps. He couldn't wait. His hand shot out as though he were trying to catch a snitch and snatched up the capsule of pure light.

He laughed at the feeling of it in his hand. The energy was almost intoxicating, as he held it before his eyes. He smiled and tossed the ball into his open mouth. He held back his chortles as the energy tickled his tongue. It was unexpectedly flavorless, not even a trace of the flavor of the blood that was used could be sensed.

He closed his eyes tightly, tears squeezing out as he fought hard not to laugh at the sensations the ball was causing in his mouth. He worked his jaw a bit, allowing saliva to build up and, once he was reasonably sure he could, he swallowed. He began to laugh as he felt the ball move slowly toward his stomach. He sat on his bed, giggling all the while.

It wasn't to last, though, as the tickling sensation suddenly became an unsettling numbness. He looked to the where the recipe rested on his pillow. He began to reach for it when pain erupted from his entire being. He couldn't scream, as every muscle in his body seemed to constrict at once. He vision began to blur as the light around him seemed to increase in intensity, and afterimage after afterimage overlapped in his sight.

It was too much for the Boy-who-lived, and he soon blacked out, crumpling on his bed like a marionette that had its strings suddenly cut.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So, yeah, a rewrite. It's been a long while since I've posted anything on Harry Potter and the Dragon's Breath, and I've tried to, I really have. Unfortunately my writing style has changed too much, and my chapter length is very different from what it used to be. Every time I tried to write the next chapter, I couldn't get it to fit with the old style of writing and new ideas popped into my head to help enhance the story. So, here we are, I combined the first two chapters and gave a little more history on the origins of the scale. I'll reveal more and more about the scale as the story progresses.

I'm going to try and stick to a chapter a month. Don't hold me to that, though, as I've found myself in charge of a guild in Star Wars: The Old Republic. My server, Dalborra, will soon be merging to Harbinger, so once that's happened, look me up. I play as Irila Manar, heading up Light of the Republic on the Republic faction.


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